


Cream

by Ludwiggle73



Series: Christmas Tidbits [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas Eve, Cowgirl Position, Facial Shaving, M/M, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludwiggle73/pseuds/Ludwiggle73
Summary: Feliciano gives Ludwig a very close shave.
Relationships: Germany/North Italy (Hetalia)
Series: Christmas Tidbits [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580215
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	Cream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kitty (Katatafish)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katatafish/gifts).



> For the only goddess I'm interested in praying to <3

Feliciano knocked on the door.

He rechecked his kit, paranoid; he’d never served such a high-ranking officer before, and he’d been scatterbrained all day. It wasn’t unusual to do this at night—most soldiers preferred it, since it meant one less thing to rush before dawn—but Feliciano typically worked in the communal rooms. To be called to a major’s private quarters after dark . . .

The door opened. Here was Ludwig, staring down at him expectantly. Oh, he was even larger up close. Those shoulders, those eyes—that voice. “Who sent you?”

Feliciano stifled a shiver. The words rumbled right through him and into the floor, like lightning. _Like thunder._ “Um, you did, sir.” He lifted his basket, so Ludwig could see his kit. “Your shave?”

“Oh. Yes. Come in.” Ludwig stepped aside, closed the door behind Feliciano. “My apologies. My thoughts are elsewhere.”

“No need to apologize, sir.” This wandered out absently while Feliciano’s gaze took in the room. He’d expected finery, but nothing so dark and homey in that masculine way the military had. The room was all mahogany and navy, a rug and curtains, a grand desk, and a closed door that Feliciano knew led to a tiny bedroom. He wondered if there were photographs in there. Feliciano himself shared a room with three cooks and two janitors, but he still had a photo of his brother and their grandfather in there. He hoped they were having a golden Christmas without him.

Ludwig sat at his desk. “Will I be able to read while you work?”

Feliciano nodded, bustling over. “Yes, sir.” He took up the towel, still damp and heated by the stones he’d wrapped it around. “This will open your—”

“Fine,” Ludwig said shortly, eyes on his paperwork.

Feliciano swallowed his chatter and pressed the hot towel to the bottom half of Ludwig’s face. He didn’t want to be snapped at for reading classified documents, so he looked at Ludwig instead. It took a very dignified man to sit so firm and stoic while a towel covered him like this. He was so serious, brow low on his eyes, the sharp lines of his nose, the thin frown of his mouth beneath Feliciano’s thumb. And his neck, the way it rose from his uniform, the way his collar lay against it. All of him fit together as a glorious machine, and Feliciano wondered what he’d been like as a young soldier, like the cocky ones who tried to kiss Feliciano in the shower room. What if Ludwig tried to kiss him?

“Feliciano.”

He leapt back, startled and then shocked. Ludwig had used his first name. He cleared his throat, folding up the towel with trembling hands. “Sir?”

Ludwig glanced up from his paperwork, amused. “You were humming. Christmas carols.”

“Oh.” Feliciano set down the towel. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Ludwig sat back in his chair. “I shouldn’t be reading these things tonight, anyway. They’ve called a ceasefire for Christmas.”

Feliciano grinned. “Oh, good!” Then he remembered himself and ducked his head, dipping his brush into the pot of cream. “That’s good news, sir.”

Ludwig chuckled so low Feliciano felt it in his own chest. “Yes. It is good. Perhaps I should have given you the evening off. You likely have someone to spend it with.”

A journey out to the village would be quite a thing, but in the snow, and such short notice, and having to return the next day—it just wasn’t worth it. There would be other holidays. “No, sir,” he replied, gently smoothing the shaving cream onto Ludwig’s cheeks, down beneath his jaw. “I don’t mind being here.”

Ludwig smiled, very faintly. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Feliciano knew he was pushing his luck, but he was too full of Christmas and warmth to care. “What about you, sir? Do you have someone to spend tonight with?”

Ludwig hummed thoughtfully as Feliciano began to shave him. “My brother. He is posted across the sea. Other than him, no one.”

Feliciano smiled. “I have a brother, too. He’s not posted anywhere, though. He has flat feet.”

Or so the story went. Feliciano had a feeling strings had been pulled. Antonio, Lovino’s fiance, had been high up in the army even before the current fighting started. Not as high as Ludwig, but high enough, Feliciano felt sure. No one said things like that aloud, however. War was a time of silent secrets.

Ludwig didn’t say anything, because Feliciano was sliding the straight razor along his jaw. Here was power: one wrong move, and Feliciano could have Ludwig bleeding out over his paperwork. He had this mighty man by the throat. But he didn’t take advantage of it, beyond murmuring, “I’ll probably get in trouble for saying this, but I think you look very handsome, even with stubble.”

He wiped the rest of the cream away with the towel, now cooled. Ludwig’s eyes met his, so very blue and unreadable now. Was he angry? Was he about to shout, or strike him? He could do whatever he wanted. Feliciano was invisible. Expendable.

As soon as he pulled the towel back, Ludwig reached out to cup his face in those massive hands. Feliciano was shocked into silence. Ludwig said nothing. He just pulled Feliciano to him and kissed him, hard. This wasn’t a first kiss for either of them, but it felt like it. Feliciano had never felt the intensity of lips against his like this, like Ludwig was suffocating and needed to steal all the air from Feliciano’s chest. He’d never felt hands squeezing his thigh so tight, hard enough to leave fingerprint bruises on his pillowy flesh. He’d never felt the muscles of a strong man’s lap, his thighs and his abs, the arms around him, the hardness pressing into Feliciano’s cheeks. It was too much, the hot need of this man, too much. Feliciano felt himself beginning to burn, sparks under his skin.

Then, cold. Ludwig’s fingers, coated in cream, stroked him inside and out, soothing those fiery embers. Feliciano whimpered—it stung, those broad blunt fingers—into Ludwig’s other hand. When Ludwig pushed inside, Feliciano’s teeth sank into that hand. They both took the pain and worked through it, desperate for connection, release, relief. Ludwig groaned foreign curses into Feliciano’s throat. Feliciano pressed kisses to Ludwig’s calloused palm. Both of them were wet with his tears.

Feliciano soon found purchase with hand and knee, pushing himself upright and bouncing there on Ludwig’s lap. Ludwig aided him, lifting him higher and higher, the pair of them meeting each other with their thrusts. Both of them were filthy with cream and sweat and longing.

“Feli—” Ludwig’s voice broke on the second syllable and hissed the second half as he crushed Feliciano against him. He could feel the length twitching inside him, boiling him. Now Ludwig’s hand took Feliciano; it was only a few strokes and he was finished, weeping quietly into Ludwig’s shoulder. “Don’t cry, sweet,” Ludwig said, stumbling into affection. “I—”

But Feliciano kissed the words from his lips. The time for talk was later. For now . . .

“Merry Christmas,” Feliciano whispered, and Ludwig wiped his tears away.


End file.
